


Lending a Hand

by chaos_monkey



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Cheating, Coming In Pants, Hand Jobs, I still love you, I'd tag this Awkward Boners except it's only awkward AFTER the boners, I'm so sorry Joyce, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Though if you're reading Tom/Ben then you knew that already, Voyeurism, but only briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: Tom's relationship with DS Jones... changed one night. He didn't mean for it to happen, but can't quite bring himself to mind that it did. And he can't quite bring himself to put a stop to it the next time, either.a.k.a. stakeout handjobs.
Relationships: Ben Jones/Original Female Characters (referenced), Tom Barnaby/Ben Jones
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38
Collections: Midsomer_Melee





	Lending a Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nowstfucallicles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowstfucallicles/gifts).



> This is all nowstfucallicles' fault for asking me in the discord server what it would take for me to write some Tom/Ben filth, and then rudely _encouraging_ my ideas, along with Bobbit who is also complicit in this.  
> (But let's be real, there is not enough fic of these two in existence and it is, in fairness, a bit of a crime already that it took me this long to write something for them)

The first time, Tom only watched. 

He wasn’t sure how it happened, exactly. Too much wine was definitely involved and some stretches of his memory were… hazy; though interspersed with almost startlingly clear recollections. He and Jones had just closed down a particularly bothersome triple murder and were sitting out back under the late night— or, more accurately, very early morning— sky, rehashing the case by way of celebrating its end long after Joyce had bid them goodnight and gone up to bed. And then it seemed to Tom that one minute he was staring up at the stars with his DS lounging in the chair next to him; and the next, he was watching avidly as Jones came in his trousers with a groan. 

The specific sequence of events in the interim remained largely a mystery to him after the fact. He was fairly certain he remembered the two of them commiserating over not having the time nor the energy during these sorts of drawn out, mentally draining cases for any kind of sexual pursuits beyond the occasional quick wank now and then— and what little Tom did remember of that conversation was enough to put a blush on his face now, though inasmuch as he could recall, he hadn’t felt any embarrassment about the topic in the moment. Courage in the bottom of a wine bottle, presumably. Courage, or perhaps recklessness, because that was most certainly not an appropriate subject matter when conversing with one’s subordinate officer, the fact that they had been off-duty at the time notwithstanding. 

As unsettling as the blurry memories of that conversation were, even more unsettling were the sharp, clear memories that seemed they would be seared in Tom’s mind forever. Sights, movements, sounds. Like static snapshots in time. 

The way Jones had looked, eyes closed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, half of him illuminated in the slightly orange glow of the porch light and the other half lost in the soft night shadows. 

The undeniably erotic way his hips had shifted when he curled his fingers around his blatant erection through his jeans and _squeezed._

The way his quick, panting exhales had caught in the occasional moan in the back of his throat. 

And the sight of him climaxing with a sudden grunt, body jerking and going rigid, the shape of his cock clear even under the thick denim and gripped so tightly in his still spastically pumping hand that his knuckles paled visibly even in the dim light. 

Despite the erection throbbing insistently in his own trousers, Tom had only watched, holding off on touching himself until he was safely in the privacy of his own shower after Jones had left in a cab. They never once brought it up or talked about it afterwards, of course. Tom had no idea what he would even say, and if Jones wanted to pretend it never happened, he was more than happy to do the same. 

But those snapshot memories stayed clear in his mind whether he liked it or not. 

And truth be told… he did. 

* * *

Months passed. Tom hadn’t forgotten that night in the yard, but he could usually pretend that he had, with the exception of the occasional private moment to himself in his morning shower. Then, those memories inevitably swam back into the forefront of his mind while he stroked himself, stoking the arousal in his belly and quickening his breath until he spilled with a groan to the clearly remembered image of Jones coming into his jeans beside him. 

At least, those were the only exceptions until today. 

Perhaps it was something about the setting that triggered those memories; or perhaps he was just… horny. Either way, sitting up in the hayloft of a barn with a wall to his left and Jones to his right, Tom found himself unable to stop glancing at his DS and picturing him the way he had been that night; imagining him doing it again here, now. 

Shifting before his leg could fall asleep, Tom tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere, but they kept wandering right back to Jones of their own accord. The sergeant was half sprawled out, slouched back against the wall with one knee up and one hand resting on his thigh just barely to one side of his crotch, chattering idly while they waited. The whole reason for the stakeout, the meeting in the barn below, wouldn’t be happening for— Tom checked his watch— another hour or so yet. 

Tom sighed quietly, shifting again, and forced his attention back to the conversation, mentally running through the last few things Jones had said about his latest relationship recently going down in flames. Again. 

“Who’s Madeleine?” Tom asked, looking at Jones in mild surprise. “I thought you were dating… Rebecca, wasn’t it?” 

Jones huffed a mirthless laugh, turning his head to meet Tom’s gaze with a wry grin. “No, that’s been over for about three months now. She ended it right after that… long case.” There was the briefest of pauses and Tom could have sworn Jones’ eyes flicked downwards to his groin for a split second before the DS continued, “Said I didn’t have enough time for her.” 

Tom hummed a commiserative sound of agreement and Jones faced the wall again with a forlorn sigh. 

“I reckon she was right,” Jones added a brief moment later. “I didn’t. Have time, I mean. Not the way she wanted, anyway… but it’s a bloody shame, really.” 

“Oh?” 

Jones looked at him again, tilting his head consideringly; then grinned. “Ever heard the phrase ‘freak between the sheets’, sir?” 

Tom’s lips twitched. “Yes, Jones. I have. I’m not that out of touch, thank you.” 

“Have you ever _been_ with someone that applies to?” 

Tom almost blushed. He knew he shouldn’t encourage this line of conversation— especially not after… last time— but… damn it, he was curious. “No,” he admitted. 

Jones’ crooked grin widened, and the tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips. “It is an _experience,_ ” he said, head thumping back onto the wooden wall behind him with a quiet sigh. “God. She didn’t need ‘the sheets’ to be involved, let me tell you. Anywhere and everywhere was fair game when Becca was in the mood. Which was basically all the time. I swear, the things that woman could do with her mouth should have been fucking illegal.” 

Jones’ hips shifted slightly and Tom looked down just in time to see the DS’s hand twitch where it was still resting on his own leg. A sudden image leapt unbidden and fully formed into his mind of Jones, cock out but still clothed, leaning back against a wall somewhere with his feet spread wide and mouth parted in a groan of bliss while a faceless young woman sucked him off. The sergeant was still talking, about a time Rebecca had invited a friend home to join them as well, and Tom listened with half an ear, staring in rapt fascination at Jones’ fingers circling lightly over the material of his suit trousers— a hairsbreadth away from what was clearly his slowly stiffening cock. He didn’t make any move to hide it, not even when his full-blown erection was pressing blatantly up inside the leg of his trousers. And then he started rubbing his fingertips over it, lightly, almost idly; his hips shifting more and more frequently and his increasingly detailed description of the menage a trois punctuated with a little grunted sigh every time he shifted. 

Heart pounding at his own daring, knowing he shouldn’t but unable— or maybe unwilling— to stop himself, Tom slid one hand inwards to palm his own erection through his trousers. Finally tearing his eyes away from Jones’ lap to glance up at his face instead, Tom found his gaze arrested by the sergeant’s expression while he talked; a little furrow in his brow, his eyes half closed and a bright flush of red staining his cheeks. 

“Broadened your horizons a little, did she?” Tom ventured when Jones eventually paused in his… storytelling with a wistful sigh. 

“You have no idea,” Jones said. He finally turned his head to look over at Tom, his pupils dilated into deep pools of black, and his gaze flickered down but he didn’t so much as blink despite the fact that he could not have missed where Tom’s hand was resting. 

Tom raised his eyebrows expectantly and waited, feeling his own chest rising and falling faster with his rapid breathing, nervous and excited and afraid, all at once. 

_Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t—_

“The first time she tied me up—” Jones leaned closer, his voice dropping to something confidential and husky, and Tom’s cock throbbed under his hand at the implication that Jones had been tied up _multiple times—_ “she put a finger up my arse while she sucked me off. I never came so hard in my life.” 

Tom swallowed hard, fingers tightening involuntarily around his aching erection. “Really.” 

“Mmhm.” Jones finally closed a hand around his own cock, grip sliding all the way down to squeeze the head through his trousers with something halfway between a hum and a groan. “I’ve done it myself a few times since she ended things, but… well, it’s just not the same when it’s your own hand, is it.” 

“Most things aren’t,” Tom agreed, without thinking. Disappointment immediately curled through his stomach when Jones _stopped_ slowly stroking himself, hand moving back to rest on his thigh again; and then Tom belatedly realised what exactly he had just said. 

He froze, except for his heart thudding in his own chest so hard he was sure Jones must be able to hear it. The moment stretched— and then Jones’ hand slid onto Tom’s thigh in silent question; or maybe in invitation. The warm pressure of his sergeant’s palm just resting on his leg sent a thrill of heat straight to Tom’s core, his cock twitching at the tentative touch, and he didn’t hesitate for nearly as long as he should have before returning the gesture. 

“What else did she do,” Tom said more than asked, latching onto the first idea he had to break the silence so he could keep pretending this wasn’t… exactly what it really was. 

He could _hear_ the smug tone in Jones’s voice as the DS launched immediately into descriptions of his favourite non-standard activities, including locations— the first on the list being his _desk_ in the office of all places, which Tom instantly knew he would never be able to look at in the same way again— and his hand tightened briefly on Tom’s leg and then moved inwards. 

Tom stiffened, breath hitching in his chest at the first gentle brush of Jones’ fingers over his erection; a brush that turned into a caress and then a squeeze and then a long stroke, casual as you please, palm sliding the length of his cock and back again and sending little sparks of fire tingling up and down his spine. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard; the last time he’d positively _ached_ with need for touch, for more, for anything; and almost without realising it, he had slipped his own hand over to palm Jones’ stiff cock through his trousers as well. 

He realised he had been expecting it to be rather the same as touching himself, but somehow it was completely different. He was hyper aware of the _feel_ of Jones’ cock under his hand in a way he never was with his own; aware of the heat radiating through the taut material, the shape of it and the way it leapt at his touch. A quiet gasp escaped Jones’ lips, his words faltering as Tom rubbed his palm over the head of his sergeant’s cock and then all the way back to the base, wrapping his fingers around Jones’ shaft as much as he could through his trousers. 

He _squeezed,_ and Jones’ stomach tensed under his forearm, and the slow, tentative atmosphere gave way to something not quite frantic, but close to. Jones’ hand stilled and tightened on Tom’s cock while the DS fumbled one-handed at his own fly. His breath hitching at what he was doing, Tom slipped his hand into Jones’ trousers the moment they were open, closing his fingers around Jones’ hard heat and pulling a low groan from his sergeant’s throat. 

Jones’ legs opened wider as he pushed the front of his trousers down enough for Tom to pull him out into the open air, and Tom was finally able to start stroking him properly. He couldn’t look away while Jones reached back to awkwardly wrestle his trousers open as well, his eyes glued to the sight of Jones’s cock in his hand, flushed head popping through the circle of his fist on every stroke. 

He paused long enough to run his thumb through the rapidly growing drop of clear, slick precome in the slit at the tip, then went back to pumping slowly, deliberately up and down. Just a few strokes later and Jones had freed him from the confines of his trousers to do the same, grip sliding warm and firm and sure over the length of Tom’s aching erection. Neither of them looked directly at each other through it all, and Tom finally noticed Jones hadn’t resumed talking; but he couldn’t quite mind, not with the silence filled instead by both of their sharp panting breaths and the occasional stifled moan. 

Pushing his shirt up his stomach and out of the way as they gradually sped up together, Tom let his head fall back and his eyes fall almost shut; though not so much that he couldn’t still see what they were doing. His orgasm was approaching _far_ more quickly than he was used to at his age, the arousal winding tighter in his gut somehow spurred on rather than deterred by the little voice in the back of his mind that kept reminding him how utterly _wrong_ this was; on so many levels. 

It somehow still took him by surprise when it happened, though, release slamming through him in a wave of heat and wringing an embarrassingly loud gasp from his throat. He did manage to keep working Jones’ cock, at least; that velvet-soft skin sliding over stiff heat in his grip while he came into Jones’, spilling out over his sergeant’s fingers and onto his own belly in a wash of pleasure that made his toes curl and his head swim. Jones’ breath stuttered in a whimpered moan a few rapidly thudding heartbeats later, and while Tom was still trying to catch his own breath again, Jones jerked, his cock hardening further still in Tom’s hand— and then he was coming with a strangled groan and a shudder, his hips twitching and his hand spasming tighter where it was still wrapped around Tom’s spent, sticky cock. 

Just barely keeping enough presence of mind to keep stroking Jones through his orgasm, Tom stared, mouth dropping open and eyes widening as spurt after spurt of come spattered long, glistening wet streaks up the front of Jones’ pale grey shirt, nearly up to his bloody _collar_ and only narrowly missing his tie by virtue of it being completely askew already. Tom finally slowed and then stilled after a last, small pulse of come trickled hot and thick down over his fingers, his attention half on how Jones looked now— chest heaving and mouth open as he panted for breath, his face flushed and his shirt covered in his own come— and half on wondering if there had been this much, this _hard,_ when Jones had come in his jeans that night in the backyard. 

They sat there in slightly stunned silence for a moment before Jones shifted, looking down at himself with a groan. “…Shit.” 

Suddenly feeling mortifyingly awkward, Tom cleared his throat, his cheeks burning as he finally withdrew his hand from Jones’ softening cock. Jones did the same, and Tom quickly put himself away, resolutely fixing his gaze at the far wall; then fumbled his handkerchief from his pocket and quickly wiped up the worst of the mess on his own stomach. 

He hesitated briefly before silently offering it to his sergeant, who took it with a quiet grunt that might have been a _thanks._ Tom stood and turned his back to let Jones clean up, busying himself with tucking his shirt in and getting his clothes back in order until he was reasonably certain that Jones was also decent again. Part of him was dying to know if Jones came… like _that…_ every time, but he kept quiet, uncomfortable with the idea of actually talking about such things now that it was over. 

Besides… maybe he’d find out if something like this ever happened again; and as the thought crossed his mind, Tom wasn’t really surprised to find that he very much hoped it would. 


End file.
